


Always with you

by Miss_Choco_chips



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Conner is a good Friend, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, he just wants to punch dick grayson in his perfect teeth is that too much to ask?, the best of friends really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Choco_chips/pseuds/Miss_Choco_chips
Summary: Because Kon is always looking out for Tim.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 9
Kudos: 149





	Always with you

He wakes up slowly, achingly aware of each heavy muscle keeping him anchored to the mattress as he lays on his side, each nerve ending pleading with him to just stay, just relax for a few hours, please stop putting them through so much stress.

Of course, they are ignored. He’s preparing himself from the inevitable onslaught of pain once he gets in a vertical position, when he feels the careful fingers combing through his hair. 

He can’t even blink before a heavy hand drops to his waist, keeping him still, because yeah, vigilante reflexes.

"Shh, don’t get up dude. I’m just braiding your hair. Nothing to worry about."

The effect is immediate, body going lax, mind so stupidly fast at ease it probably wasn’t healthy.

"What’re y’ doin’ere?" He mumbles through heavy lips, barely even parting them for the words to escape. 

The body behind his back inches closer, and he feels his hair being moved this and that way.

"Heard you had a rough night. Cassie showed me once how to braid her hair, said it was relaxing an’ stuff, so I thought it might help. You seriously need a haircut though."

"Shu’up."

"Go back to sleep, buddy. It’s still late. Or early, whatever."

"Need to… ‘vestigate a case… B’ce’ll be mad…"

"No, you need to close your eyes and be nice to yourself. I doubt Batman is expecting a report at five in the morning when you got tossed around by Croc like a ragdoll three hours ago."

He wants to argue some more, but the hands move from the ends on his hair to his scalp in a light massage and he’s out like a light.

He wakes up six hours later, body and mind both thanking him for the extra rest, with groggy eyes and hair a tangled mess.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in months.

\---.---

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit. Fuck!"

Tim smiles, a small line of blood dripping from his parted lips. "What would Ma said if she was here and listened to that, huh? Swear jar much?"

"She would be cursing right along with me and probably kicking me in the ass to do something", the man snapped back, hands hovering over his torso where the knife was still deeply buried. "Should you put pressure on it? I feel like you need to put pressure on it."

"If I do, I’ll just move the knife around. And that’s gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Fuck. Fuuuck... then, take the knife out first. That sounds like a plan."

"It also sounds like me bleeding out quicker."

"You aren’t being helpful at all! Just… Here, if I could carry you…"

"Don’t fucking touch me, you’ll... make it worse with your clumsy hands."

That’s not the reason he can’t stand Kon touching him right now, but he’s in no condition to elaborate either.

"Look who’s cursing now!"

"I’m allowed to. I was stabbed."

"I KNOW YOU WERE, NOW TELL ME WHAT TO DO!"

"You can just chill and keep me company", Tim sighs, head resting back against the wall he was using for support, hidden in a dark corner on the warehouse. "I already sent a distress beacon, B should be here anytime now. No important organs were nicked, so I’ll be good as long as I get stitched up before I bleed out."

"That’s not comforting to hear. You suck at calming people."

"The person in pain should be the one freaking out. It’s going to be fine, trust me."

"I trust you to lead us into battle. I trust you when you say you figured something out, no matter how impossibly weird your explanation is. I trust you when you say ‘go left’ even if all the signs say ‘go right’. But I absolutely don’t trust you when it comes to your own health. You little bitch of a liar."

"...your bedside manners suck. Now get the hell out of here, I hear the Batmobile getting closer."

"You better survive until you get fixed up, Boy Wonder. I’ll give you hell  _ forever  _ if you die."

\----.----

  
  


He’s sitting on the cold, hard ground when he feels the meta approaching. He doesn’t touch him, but Tim can still feel the worry basically overflowing off his body.

"It’s fine, don’t be so concerned."

"’Fine’ has a lot of new meanings when it comes from you, varying from ‘I want to cry a bit, hug me please’ to ‘I might need someone to watch over me, just in case I do something scarily stupid on purpose’."

"Those are very specific translations, for one short word."

"What can I say, I know how to read my buddy."

"Uh huh. And what does it mean, right now?"

"You might be leaning more towards the latter, to be honest."

Tim hums, eyes still on the epitaph, hands carefully arranging the flowers on top. His parent’s names staring back at him, the stone where they were engraved as cold as their eyes had always been when they looked at him.

"Good thing I have you then, clone boy."

The pressure on his shoulder is sudden, but light. Barely even touching at all. 

Tim feels it all the same, and for one brief, overwhelming second, he wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

Quickly pushing the thought from his mind, he stands up again, turning to face his friend and give him his best shot at a smile.

"Walk me home?"

\---.---

Tears are falling from his eyes, and he furiously scrubs them off with one arm, the other still shoving shirts and pants into the open suitcase. 

He’s leaving the manor, but he sure as fuck isn’t leaving his things behind. God knows what the little devil might do. He already took such a perverse pleasure in stealing everything Tim held precious, so why the hell not fuck his belongings up too? 

He probably can’t fit everything into the suitcase, but even a portion of it would be enough. Even if Damian burned the rest, or if Alfred threw it out, or if Dick gave it to charity… he would at least keep a little for himself, a bit of the boy he was while living under this roof.

He sees Kon standing on the side, from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t stop his motions. He needs to be quick about this, while Batman and his new Robin are still on patrol. Before Dick comes back and tries to stop him or… or worse. Worse like locking him up.

"Slow down", the calm, deep voice interjets from the side, like he could hear his thoughts. "They just left, you still got time. You are going to hurt yourself like this."

"I might be a sad excuse of a vigilante",  he snaps back, ignoring his friend’s advice, now trying to shove a shirt he stole from B-Bruce once. He’s taking this one even if he has to leave one of his own, "but even I won’t get injured by packing some shit."

"You aren’t that, Tim."

"Dick seems to differ, and I feel inclined to believe one of my former teachers and literal  _ Batman  _ over someone who loves me too much to hurt my frail, stupid feelings. No offense."

"None taken. I’m going to break Grayson’s face the first chance I have, though."

"If you can pull that off, I’ll buy you a milkshake."

"I’m holding you up to that, bud. Now, slow.  _ down _ . You might not get hurt physically, but your mind is certainly doing you no favors."

"I need to leave, I need to move."

"You need to punch someone, preferably your brothers, and then call Cassie, or Cass, or someone who’s not a fucking backstabber and ask them to come and punch them too in your name."

"That’s what you said you were gonna do, though."

"Yeah, if I get the chance. But I can’t right now, you know. Also, I’m coming with you, so… that’s gonna take a while to get around to."

Tim keeps pushing stuff, but his shoulders are slightly less hunched, more relaxed. He sees Kon moving around a bit, looking at posters still hanging on the walls, framed pictures by the bedside table he couldn’t fit and weren’t important enough to make space for, everything that once made this space Tim’s, like he’s trying to commit it to memory. Like he might never see this again.

Considering what Tim was planning to do, that might as well be the case.

He doesn’t really care anymore.

"Did you tell him about me?" Finally breaks the silence his friend, pacing apparently over, as he stands by Tim’s side, eyeing the Superboy shirt Tim was keeping close so it could be the thing at the top of the suitcase once he was done packing the rest. His voice is devoid of any judgement, and Tim’s heart clenches a bit. This night couldn't get more emotional if it tried. 

He shakes his head. Timothy Jackson Drake was  _ done  _ with feelings.

Carefully avoiding his friend’s knowing stare, he scoffs. "Of course not. I might be, as Dick kindly put it, delusional, but I’m not stupid. He would have just drugged me and dumped me into the deepest cell he could find at Arkham that wasn’t already occupied. I know I bitch about how incredibly easy it’s to break out of there, but that only applies to villains with henchmen on their payroll that can provide the manpower to devise a getaway."

Seeing as the case looked ready to burst, he added the last shirt and closed it, fighting against the zipper for a good minute and a half.

"Okay, I’m done. Let’s get out of here. I have a parental figure to find and drag back, kicking and screaming if I need to. You coming?"

"Always. Who else would talk you out of stupid shit, Rob? I’m always on your side, you know that."

  
  


\----.----

  
  


When Tim sees him again, flying parallel to his motorcycle in Paris of all fucking places, he wants nothing more than to punch him.

Kon tries to talk to him about what he’s doing, what happened to Bruce, why the fuck was he doing this to himself. Tim just wishes, more than ever, that he had more control of his mind, so he could just wave Conner’s hallucination away. 

But, well, when does he ever get what he wants?

"Tim, please, just hear me out! I’m back, I…"

"Yes, I can see it, you jackass", he bites back, making his way through the sewers. "You said you were coming with me, but then fucking disappeared until now. I got fucking Ra’s Al Ghul on my tail, you know? I could have used what little comfort you could provide."

"First of all, rude. Second, dude, I  _ couldn't  _ come. I was busy… coming back. Which brings me back to my earlier point. Tim. Buddy. Tim, I  _ came back _ . This is me. Really me. Please, just… just touch me, okay? So you can be sure this is real. Rob, c’mon…"

But Tim just shakes his head, and avoids both his hands and every mention of this topic, only answering back when Kon moves from that to talking about Clark and Lex, right and wrong. 

Maybe his head is trying to remind him of Bruce’s teachings, about the dangers of falling into Ra’s web, like the silly fly that heard the spider’s honey-dripping words and fell from them.

Maybe everyone’s right and he just lost it. Whatever. He know he’s right about B. His mental health can take a back seat and enjoy the storm Tim is going to break loose, and he’ll get on it in a sec.

But he can’t just listen to Kon, can’t believe him, because it would destroy him if his hopes get once again destroyed.

He’s already stretched thin, running after a man he’s not 100% sure is even alive. He can’t spare any hope of the same belief to Kon.

When he leaves the city, Conner doesn’t follow. He looks sad as Tim walks away, but he doesn’t disappear on thin air like he used to. Instead, he flies away until Tim can no longer see him in the distance. 

That gives him pause, for a second, because… that was new. Maybe… maybe Kon had actually… maybe he was...

But he steels his heart and keeps going, because he can’t chase two ghost at the same time. 

And if Kon was truly back, the Tim welcoming him back couldn't be the one with two devils and no angel on his shoulders.

\----.----

He’s back in his city, feeling more like himself than ever, even with the looming threat of Ra’s revenge hanging over his head. 

He’s lighter, more at peace with himself, now full of evidence of Bruce’s situation that will grant him Justice League’s backup. Ready to throw it at Dick’s face, hopefully poking his eye with the flashdrive or harming his stupidly perfect face with a papercut.

He’s in a better place, finally. Tired, mourning the loss of two ninjas that gave their lives for his mission, and one organ less than what he had when he went away so many months ago, but… Mentally speaking, he hasn’t feel like this since before his mother died.

Enough that, when Kon landed in front of him, some quip about leather suits on his tongue, Tim felt strong enough to risk another heartbreak and jumped forward, arms circling around his best friend’s middle, hoping against hope he wouldn't just go through him like all the times in the past when he tried to hug Conner’s hallucination.

He hits a solid, steel-like chest, and his heart stops.

"Kon?"

The meta’s arms wriggle out of his hold, and he proceeds to fold them around his tinier frame, plastering Tim to his front with a shaky breath.

Tim can’t breath. He wonders if he’s dead, too, but quickly discards the idea, because death couldn’t possibly be so  _ warm _ .

"I told you, I’m back for good", his friend mumbles, arms clenching around Tim, voice breaking and heavy with emotion. "Not that I ever truly left, but…"0

"W--what?" He’s choking up on his tears and confusion, wanting to get away from the hug so he could look at Kon’s eyes and discern the truth, but also knowing that the mere idea of letting go would make him cry even harder. "Y-you died, what do you mean you never…"

He can’t keep talking, because he feels like he would drive himself into a panic attack if he does, but thankfully, words aren’t really a necessity with his Superboy.

"I told you, Boy wonder, that I’ll always be by your side. And I was. Right up until I got back to life and then I had to track you down to tell you about it, not that your stubborn ass believed me…"

Moments flash through Tim’s mind, quick and merciless. All the times he laid in bed, aching and mourning, and feeling gentle fingers sooth the pain away, both in his body and his heart. Sitting on top of buildings and contemplating how easy ending it all would be, just for Kon to appear out of nowhere, yelling at him ‘ _ If you’re going through hell, keep going until you fucking leave it, idiot _ !’. Visiting his parents’ graves, getting verbally attacked by Damian, getting discarded by Dick, and then a comforting voice in his ear, encouraging him forward, begging for him to not give up yet.

"No. No, those… those were hallucinations. Proof that I’m crazy. Proof that..."

"The only thing me being with you after death proved, was that you have no way of getting rid of me. And you aren’t crazy, Tim. Which is a testament to your resilience, because with all the shit you have to put up with, anyone would be. But you aren’t. I was a kickass ghost, your own personal supernatural buddy slash motivational coach, not a product of your tired mind. Now, the pink haired fairy sitting by your table that one time?  _ That  _ was because of sleep deprivation. You need to sleep more, my dude. And now, I’m alive, I’m back, and I’m here for you, like always."

Tim can’t even attempt to control the tears. Who knew a healing heart would ache so much? He’s crying louder now that he's unbelievably happy than when he was utterly destroyed. His heart feels like it’s growing up inside his body physically now, doubling in size and stronger than ever. 

He feels like Ra’s could put his plan in motion right this second and he wouldn't give a shit. No revenge he could spring on Tim would dampen his happiness at the warmth of Kon hugging him back.

  
"Now, this reunion is very touching, and it was fucking time you got it into your thick head that I’m back for good, but", Tim scrunches his nose, head leaving Conner’s shoulder so he could look up at his face in confusion. The meta gave him a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but came out as  _ vicious, _ "I have a to do list, and punching Dick Grayson has the honor of being number one. Care to point me in the right direction?"


End file.
